#bed store

A couple I was helping earlier had two little ones, three and six, who were behaving in a rather saintly fashion for the average bored kid I see. I tried to engage them with remotes and things while their parents talked.

Eventually they were restless enough that I pulled out notepads and asked if they wanted to draw. The three year old quickly lost interest and I went over to ask her favorite animal. She told me “elephant” so to delight and amaze her I started drawing an elephant. Usually kids are into it.

When I was done she pronounced, “It looks like a giraffe.”

I staggered back melodramatically but actually laughing hysterically and said, “There goes my art degree!”

The parents laughed and said kids were harsh critics. When they checked out they saw my elephant doodle on the desk and both did a double take like, “Woah, that’s a really good elephant!”

Pros:

Carpeted

Has a window wall that looks out onto several trees which is a lovely vibe

Carries some beds my store doesn’t

Cons:

There’s a scent machine I can’t find fugging up the air with a perfume I’m allergic to

Today I opened an email saying, “Hey team, please disclose when the delivery is going to a house boat, this was a very difficult situation with limited parking and we struggled to get the truck in.”

I snorted at the absurdity and wondered what kind of customer was getting a bed delivered to a house boat.

Then I looked at the subject line and had my answer. Because it’s a bed I sold two days ago. So I knew exactly what kind of person because I helped them.

I was.

M o r t i f i e d

Now, it’s important to know that Astrid runs the program. She accepts the votes and sends out emails about the winner. I watched her face struggle for a moment as she debated but then she said, “You got two votes last month and were in the running.”

I sat bolt upright, “What?! Why??? Have these people met me? I’m so lazy! I barely remember to do any part of my job that’s not selling beds! People at other stores don’t even know who I am because I don’t go to any of the district events!”

“One of them was someone who called you and needed help and even though you were busy you took the time to walk them through a confusing process. The other was someone who was grateful you covered their store when they really needed it.”

I sat there stewing in it for a moment and then I had to acknowledge that my impact on people is more than my perception of myself and while I’d feel undeserving if I ever won I can’t discount that the positive ripples we leave behind aren’t always obvious.

Today I had a woman in her eighties come in and was pretty immediately thinking I’d refrain from mentioning my wife. This was confirmed as a good call when the woman mentioned she lived in a religious retirement community and said she’d need to schedule her bed delivery around Bible study.

She kept describing me as charming and a delight, we were getting along great. I found her a bed she loved well under her budget.

But near the end of ringing her up she asked, “Are you living on your own, or are you married?”

I had my ring on but hadn’t mentioned a partner. I’m fine omitting a detail but I’d never lie about my kickass wife so I said, “I’m living with my wife, actually.”

I could see that surprised her. She didn’t stop smiling though, and that was a good sign. After a moment she asked, “Is it strange to say ‘wife’ instead of ‘husband’?”

I laughed and shook my head, “It would feel much weirder to say husband.”

She nodded slightly and said, “So you’ve always known.”

But there was one night where I was whiling away my time and a guy came in. He was a big guy, muscular and very punk, tattoos, piercings, the works. We got along fabulously and while helping him a middle aged white couple came in. I was pleased to have a livelier night than I’d anticipated. I bounced back and forth between the disparate parties, eventually finding beds for both.

I finished sooner with the couple but they lingered uneasily by the front of the store instead of leaving and eventually beckoned me over. I trotted along to ask if everything was okay and the woman whispered to me that they were scared to leave me alone with the guy. It was getting late and he appeared quite menacing to them. I wanted to laugh, he was an absolute sweetheart, but instead I assured them that all was well and they could go.

They departed and I immediately told the guy what they’d said. We both had a hearty laugh over it. He finished his purchase and went on his way.

In the last hour, I had my final customer. A young white man in immaculate clothes, button down shirt with freshly shined shoes. Reader, I wanted to bolt. The man had the discordant energy of a cracked bell. Something was deeply wrong with his vibes despite his polished exterior. I desperately wished the nice couple would come hover in the doorway and stare.

I gritted my teeth and greeted him, projecting a friendly and unconcerned air. It seemed clear pretty quickly that he wasn’t actually that interested in getting a bed, which alarmed me even more. I tried to go through the process of fitting him for a mattress but instead he would segue off into telling me about his life while making unblinking eye contact. He asked probing questions about me. I longed for the nice punk man to come back in with a question.

I soldiered onward, visualizing my panic button and refusing to show the slightest hint of unease to him. Eventually he told me that he played piano. He asked if I would like to see a video of him playing piano. I said okay. He then turned his phone over and showed me his screen. In it, he sat staring directly into the camera while playing piano. Above the screen he stared with the same intensely unhinged energy in the video, two sets of serial killer eyes fixed on my tiniest reaction.

I smiled politely, pinned in place by social niceties. After an eon the video finally ended. It was clear he was not going to buy a bed. I insisted that I needed to lock up. He asked if he could stay for that. I firmly informed him he needed to leave for that. With reluctance he drifted out the door as I radiated calm assurance of my own safety and power, locking the door behind him. I turned out the lights and crouched behind the desk in the darkened store, peeking out to watch.

He sat in his car for a long time. But eventually he drove away. I darted out to my car and got home as quick as I could.

Today was a very long eleven hour day and I had a pretty steady stream of people. The polite bathroom homeless man came through and I was happy to let him use the toilet again.

Later in the day though a homeless woman came in yelling about Christmas, domestic violence, and being poisoned. I turned a blind eye to her setting up shop on a bed. It’s cold out, it was fine. It became less fine when she started yelling and had her phone up and full volume. After the second time asking her to turn it down I told her we were closing. She started yelling at me about her lawyer and her poison and I kept calmly repeating that I needed to lock up.

She finally left. I had no spoons left in my drawer.

Then a lady walked in with 15 minutes to close. I told her I’d worked 11 hours. I told her she had 15 minutes. She dawdled and chatted and finally I said I had to lock up.

She goes, “I know you’re tired but I just have to tell you this funny story,” and starts in on a rambling tale about her husband sleeping on the bed upside down. If eyeballs could shoot deadly lasers mine would have in that moment.

It was 8:10. I said I needed to lock up and she finally started heading for the door and goes, “Oh, can I use your bathroom?”

“No,” I said. “I’ve got to hit the lights. Sorry.” But I wasn’t.

She huffed and left and I’m like. You were somehow worse than either homeless person I saw because you were connected to this reality and still made my life harder. Nice homeless people can pee here, but not you. Let me go home. Eleven hours.